Leaving Major Whittal surrounded by a polyglot crowd, and handing over the luggage to our sword orderlies, we seated ourselves in rickshas and set out in search of quarters. The European settlement is separated from the railway station by the Peiho River. We crossed over a bridge of boats, which swings aside to allow the passage of vessels up or down. At either end stood a French sentry, to stop the traffic when the bridge was about to open. The stream was crowded with junks loaded with stores for the various armies, and flying the flag of the nation in whose service they were employed. A steamer lay at a wharf—an unusual sight, for few ships of any draught can safely overcome the difficulties of the shallow river. Along the far bank ran a broad road, known as the Bund, bordered with well‐built warehouses and offices. Some of these bore eloquent testimony to the severity of the Chinese shell fire during the siege. The Tricolour flew over the first houses we passed, for the French Concession lies nearest the station. At the gates of those buildings, used as barracks, lounged men of the Infanterie Coloniale, clad in loose white or blue uniforms, with large and clumsy helmets. A few hundred yards farther down we reached the English settlement, and turned up a wide street, in which was situated the fine official residence of the British Consul‐General. We arrived at last at the mess of the Hong Kong Regiment, where two of us were to find quarters. It stood in a narrow lane surrounded by houses shattered by shells during the siege. Close by were the messes of the Royal Welch Fusiliers and the 3rd Bombay Light Cavalry in dark and gloomy Chinese buildings.
In the afternoon we paid our first visit to the Tientsin Club. It was crowded with representatives of almost every nationality. Britishers, Americans, French, Russians, and Austrians were clinking glasses amid a chorus of “A votre santé!” “Good health!” “Svatches doróvia!” and “Here’s how!” Even an occasional smart little Japanese officer was to be seen. Naval uniforms were almost as much in evidence as military garb; for the officers of the Allied Fleets lying off Taku varied the monotony of riding at anchor, out of sight of the land, by an occasional run ashore and a visit to Tientsin and Pekin. The utmost good fellowship prevailed among the different nationalities. French was the usual medium of intercourse between Continental officers and those of the English‐speaking races. Britishers might be seen labouring through the intricacies of the irregular verbs which had vexed their brains during schooldays, or lamenting their neglect to keep up their early acquaintance with the language of diplomacy and international courtesy. The bond of a common tongue drew the Americans and the English still more closely together, and the greatest friendship existed between all ranks of both nationalities. The heroic bravery of the sailors and soldiers of the great Republic of the West earned the praise and admiration of their British comrades, who were justly proud of the kinship that was more marked than ever during those days when the Stars and Stripes flew side by side with the Union Jack. The famous saying of the American commodore, “Blood is stronger than water,” and the timely aid given by him to our imperilled sailors in this same vexed land of China, were green in our memory. The language difficulty unfortunately prevented much intercourse with the Japanese officers. Some of them, however, were acquainted with English, and these were readily welcomed by British and Americans.
The club stands in the broad, tree‐shaded Victoria Road. Next to it is the Gordon Hall, a handsome structure famous as the refuge of the women and children during the bombardment. It contains a theatre and a public library, and is the scene of most of the festivities in Tientsin. Before its door stands an object‐lesson of the siege—two small guns of Seymour’s gallant column flanked by enormous shells captured from the Chinese. The two tall towers were a conspicuous mark for the hostile artillerymen, as was the even loftier German Club facing it. Close by are the small but pretty Public Gardens, where, in the afternoons, the bands of the various regiments used to play. Nearer the French Concession stands a large hotel, the Astor House; its long verandah was the favourite resort of the foreign officers. The groups in varied uniforms sitting round the small marble tables gave it the appearance of a Continental café—an illusion not dispelled by the courtesy which prevailed. As each new‐comer entered he saluted the company present, who all rose and bowed in reply.
Behind the Victoria Road runs the famous, or infamous, Taku Road, the scene of so many disgraceful brawls between the Allied troops. For part of its length it is lined by commercial buildings, but towards the French Concession were many houses tenanted by the frail sisterhood. Their presence attracted the worst characters among the men of the various armies, and disorder was rife. It culminated at length in a wanton attack on a small patrol of the Royal Welch Fusiliers by a drunken mob of Continental soldiers. A Japanese guard close by turned out to the aid of their English comrades, and, wasting no time in parley, dropped at once on the knee to fire into the aggressors. They were restrained with difficulty by the corporal in charge of the British patrol, who vainly endeavoured to pacify the mob. Forced at length to use their rifles in self‐defence, the Fusiliers did so to some effect. Two soldiers were killed, eight others wounded, and the remainder fled. Naturally enough, great excitement and indignation were aroused at first among the troops to which these men belonged; but it died away when the truth was known. An international court of inquiry, having carefully investigated the case, exonerated the corporal from all blame and justified his action. Such unfortunate occurrences were only to be expected among the soldiers of so many mixed nationalities, and the fact that they did not happen more frequently spoke well for the general discipline. At the end farthest from the French Concession the Taku Road ran through a number of small cafés and beer‐saloons, much patronised by the German troops, whose barracks lay close by.
The sights of the city and the foreign settlement were soon exhausted. But one never tired of watching the moving pictures of soldier life, or of visiting the scenes of the deadly fighting memorable for ever in the history of North China. The long stretches of mud flats lying between the Chinese town and the Concessions, over which shot and shell had flown for weeks; the roofless villages; the shattered houses; the loopholed and bullet‐splashed walls. There, during long days and anxious nights, the usually pacific Chinaman, spurred on by fanatic hate and lust of blood, had waged a bitter war with all the devilish cunning of his race. There the mad rushes of frenzied Boxers, reckless of life, hurling themselves fearlessly with antiquated weapons against a well‐armed foe. There the Imperial soldiers, trained by European officers, showed that their instruction had borne fruit. From every cover, natural or improvised, they used their magazine rifles with accuracy and effect. Lieutenant Fair, R.N., Flag‐Lieutenant to Admiral Seymour, told me that he has often watched them picking up the range as carefully and judiciously as a Boer marksman. And his Admiral, conspicuous in white uniform and dauntlessly exposing himself on the defences, escaped death again and again only by a miracle while men fell at his side. Nor was the shooting of the Chinese gunners to be despised. Lieutenant Hutchinson, H.M.S. Terrible, in a redoubt with two of his ship’s famous guns, engaged in a duel at three thousand yards with a Chinese battery of modern ordnance. Of six shells hurled at him, two struck the parapet in front, two fell just past his redoubt, and two almost within it. Fortunately none burst. Had the mandarins responsible for the munitions of war proved as true to their trust as the gunners, the Terrible’s detachment would have been annihilated; but when the ammunition captured afterwards from the enemy was examined, it was found that the bursting charges of the shells had been removed and replaced by sand. The corrupt officials had extracted the powder and sold it. A naval ·450 Maxim was most unpopular in the defences. Its neighbourhood was too unsafe, for whenever it opened fire the smoke betrayed it to the Chinese gunners, and shells at once fell fast around it. It had finally to be withdrawn.
But the desperate losses among the Boxers opposed to Seymour’s gallant column, the heavy fighting around Tientsin, and the capture of the city broke the back of the Chinese resistance. And when the Allied Army advanced on Pekin, no determined stand was made after the first battle. The capital, with its famous and formidable walls, fell almost without a blow. A sore disappointment to the British Siege Train, who, hurried out to South Africa to batter down the forts of Pretoria, found their services uncalled for there; and then, despatched to China for the siege of Pekin, arrived to learn that there, too, they were not needed.
The interest of the Foreign Settlement lay in the crowds that thronged its streets. Never since the occupation of Paris after Napoleon’s downfall has any city presented such a kaleidoscopic picture of varied uniforms and mixed troops of many nations. I know few things more interesting than to sit for an hour on the Astor House verandah and watch the living stream. Rickshas go by bearing officers of every army, punctiliously saluting all other wearers of epaulettes they pass. An Indian tonga bumps along behind two sturdy little ponies. After it rumbles a Russian transport cart, driven by a white‐bloused Cossack. A heavy German waggon pulls aside to make way for a carriage containing two Prussian officers of high rank. A few small Japanese mounted infantrymen trot by, looking far more in keeping with the diminutive Chinese ponies than do the tall Punjaubis who follow them. Behind them are a couple of swarthy Bombay Lancers on well‐groomed horses, gazing with all a cavalryman’s disdain at the “Mounted Foot” in front of them. And surely never was trooper of any army so picturesque as the Indian sowar. A guard of stolid German soldiers tramps by. A squad of sturdy Japanese infantry passes a detachment of heavily accoutred French troops swinging along with short, rapid strides. And at each street corner and crossing, directing the traffic, calm and imperturbable, stands the man who has made England what she is—the British private. All honour to him! Smart, trim, well set‐up, he looks a monarch among soldiers, compared with the men of other more military countries. Never have I felt so proud of Tommy Atkins as when I saw him there contrasted with the pick of the Continental armies; for all the corps that had been sent out from Europe had been specially selected to do credit to their nations. He was merely one of a regiment that had chanced to be garrisoning England’s farthest dependency in the East, or of a battery taken at random. In physique, appearance, and soldierly bearing he equalled them all. Even his cousin, the American, sturdy and stalwart as he is, could not excel him in smartness, though not behind him in courage or coolness in action. The British officer, however, in plain khaki with no adornments of rank, looked almost dowdy beside the white coats and gold shoulder‐straps of the Russian or the silver belts and sashes of the German. But gay trappings nowadays are sadly out of place in warfare.
PUBLIC GARDENS AND GORDON HALL IN THE VICTORIA ROAD, ENGLISH CONCESSION